


whatever snow does in summer

by 8sword



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Domestic Dean Winchester, Fourth of July, Kidfic, M/M, daddy!dean, trips to the emergency room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8sword/pseuds/8sword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes people say or do things for reasons you don’t understand," Cas tells Claire. "Your job is to listen long enough to find out what those reasons are."</p><p>(In which Dean continues to be a single dad, Cas continues to love him, and life is never easy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	whatever snow does in summer

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [do you wanna build a snowman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183693) by [8sword](https://archiveofourown.org/users/8sword/pseuds/8sword). 



> Set in the same 'verse as "do you wanna build a snowman." Opinions, as always, belong to Dean and not necessarily the author. Unbeta'd. Medical aspects as accurate as I can make them. Title from Olaf's song "In Summer" from Frozen.
> 
> (orange, I swear I am still working on that mermaid fic. THE PLOT BUNNIES ARE NOT MY FAULT.)

 

"I don't want to go."

"I know you don't."

"I _said_ \--"

"I know what you said, Emma." Dean yanks tin foil over the top of the pie pan. "But I already told Cas we're going, so we're going."

Emma turns away from him. Her lower lip is out, her eyebrows down, her arms crossed, and it's a complete one-eighty from the kid who was giggling as they ate Lucky Charms in front of a DVR'd episode of _Wipeout_ this morning.

He knows the reason for the sudden change, had even half anticipated it. But a (clearly too hopeful) part of him had also hoped Emma wouldn't pitch a fit when it came time to head over to Cas's brother's house for an afternoon of Fourth of July swimming and grilling.

He wasn't too excited about it himself, to be honest. He would as soon have pled business to get out of it when Cas invited them; he's not ready to meet the in-laws (and isn't sure he'll ever be). But, as much trouble as Cas goes to not to mention it, from the snippets of conversation Dean has overheard when they're at Cas's apartment and he's waiting awkwardly on the couch to watch a movie as Cas excuses himself to answer the phone, it sounds like Cas's brother and sister-in-law have been giving him a hard time about still not having met his (not really) new boyfriend. They've been going out since February, and Dean's good at avoidance, he's fucking _awesome_ at avoidance, but even he can't avoid the awareness that it's all on him that Cas's family hasn't met him yet. He's made excuses about every invitation extended to him thus far, from family dinners to casual movie dates, and he's not avoidant enough, either, to escape the awareness that all his excuses have everything to do with commitment--being willing to meet Cas's family is like telling Cas he's okay with Cas thinking they might be in this together for the long haul, and Dean's not sure he's ready for that yet.

Which makes him the biggest douchebag in the history of the planet. Who isn't ready to be with someone after you've been with them for six months? If he's still that uncertain, he should break up with Cas and let the guy move on. Let him find someone who's actually got the balls to appreciate him.

" _Fine_. But I'm not going to have fun."

Dean looks down at Emma's tone, half threat and half warning. She's glaring at him balefully, and yeah, maybe part of the reason Dean said yes to this Fourth of July thing is because Emma's with him for all of July while Lydia and the other husband are in Europe for their yearly trip, and meeting Cas's family seems like it'll be a little less scary if he's got Emma with him for it. It won't be the first time he's used her as a distraction to hide behind when he doesn't want to confront something, and who knows, maybe some subconscious, self-sabotaging part of him wants Emma to act up and say something that will make Cas second-guess this whole being-together thing.

"That's your decision," he says. "I can't make you have fun."

She makes another face at him. Then stomps to her bedroom to put her swimsuit on.

"Don't forget your goggles!" he shouts after her. He gets a blare of Radio Disney from her boombox, turned up loud, in reply, and her door slamming shut.

He sighs and finishes covering the apple pie with tinfoil. He puts it in an old Walmart bag, then reconsiders and digs out an old Target bag to put it in instead. He puts it on the counter. It looks pathetic next to the big, ribbon-tied Edible Arrangements box sitting next to it, that was delivered this morning before Dean and Emma were even out of their pajamas. Somehow Lydia must have found out about their plans for the day, because the card accompanying the box said simply, _Take this. Good luck. --L_

Which made Dean simultaneously annoyed and grateful. He was never sure if Lydia was being condescending when she did things like this or if she was genuinely trying to help. Their divorce hadn't actually been all hostile, despite how it much it sometimes feels it was, and he's pretty sure that somewhere in the Lydia of now is the Lydia of then, who wants the best for him, the same way he still wants the best for her, especially at the times he sees the shadows of her in a curve of Emma's cheek or the pitch of her laughter.

Footsteps stomp angrily back down the short hallway. He looks up to see Emma in a swimsuit he doesn't recognize, a sleek black Speedo one-piece instead of the Unikitty two-piece they bought her at the mall last week before heading to the city pool where Benny's been moonlighting as a lifeguard.

Dean doesn't say anything, just hands her the Edible Arrangements box and slings his mesh bag of towels and sunscreen and other kid stuff over his shoulder. They head out the door.

 

Cas's brother's place is in one of those nice suburban communities on the edge of town. There's no gate they have to punch a code into to get inside, but the big fancy sign proclaiming _Sherwood Estates_ makes Dean antsy anyways, and he takes the big, curving streets at a crawl, peering at the numbers on all the quaint, barn house-shaped mailboxes to make sure he doesn't miss 4200. In the end, he doesn't need it; he sees Cas's familiar gray Camry with its _I'd Rather Be Watching Sherlock_ license plate frame parked in the driveway next to a white mini-van. There's several other cars parked on that side of the street, and Dean eases the Impala in behind them.

Emma grumbles when Dean opens her door for her to get out, and scuffs her feet as she follows him up the driveway, but as they get further up the Novaks' spotless front walk, she speeds up, and follows close on his heels, the corners of the Edible Arrangements box she's holding jabbing into his kidneys. She huddles even closer behind him when he rings the doorbell, concealing herself completely behind his back. Dean twists around to look down at her, but then the door's opening, and he's looking back around because first impressions, and all.

Luckily, though, it's Cas holding open the door. "Dean," he says, mouth curving up so slightly at the corners, pleased, making the corners of his eyes crinkle, too, and the way it always seems to when he sees Cas, something inside Dean melts, a little. "You made it."

"Yup." Dean shuffles forward a little, stops because he forgot Emma's right behind him; on top of him, practically.  "The Emster, too."

Cas peers around Dean. Emma presses her face more stubbornly into the small of Dean's back, and he feels awkwardly sandwiched between them, Emma leaning into him and Cas leaning around him.

"Hello, Emma," Castiel says gravely. "I'm honored you could accompany Dean."

Emma mumbles: "Hi."

"We brought fruit." Dean twists around to take the Edibles Arrangements box from Emma, depriving her of at least some of her hiding material. "Well--technically it's from Lydia."

Cas's brows rise. "That is very kind of her."

"Yeah, well." Dean's free hand goes to the back of his flushed neck. "We made pie. I mean. Me and Emma. Here." He shoves the foil-wrapped pan at Cas less than gracefully, and, now that that hand is free, surreptitiously takes Emma's with it. She grips it, tight enough to surprise him, and he suddenly realizes that she's got to be at least as scared as he is. It's not like she's ever been here before, either, and she doesn't even have the luxury of knowing Cas, at least not as anything more than the guy she met momentarily at a Plucky Pennywhistle's almost half a year ago.

"I can't wait to try it." Cas balances the pie tin on top of the fruit box. "Do you need to change, or would you like to come straight back to the pool?"

"I think we're ready for the pool." Dean glances down at Emma, who isn't saying anything, just looking around, taking in the airy foyer, the umbrella stand by the front door, the sun-lit rooms visible at the end of the hall.

"All right." Cas leads them through the hallway, then the living room filled with Bibles and pictures of Claire, into a bright kitchen, and then out through a set of French doors to a screened-in pool area. There's children shouting and cannon-balling into the pool, and on the pool deck, a handful of adults sit in frosted-glass outdoor furniture next to a grill where a man who looks uncannily like Cas is standing.

"Oh!" cries one of them when Dean and Emma file out the French door after Cas. She's a red-haired woman in a navy blue swimsuit, jumping to her feet. "Is this Dean?!"

Dean grips Emma's hand more tightly.

Cas sets the pie and fruit assortment down on a separate table, one stacked with hamburger and hot dog buns and juices and sodas. He's frowning. "Anna."

"What?" The woman squeezes around two of the kids having a sword-fight with foam noodles on the edge of the pool. "I can't be excited to meet your boyfriend?" She looks at Dean. " _Please_ tell me you're his boyfriend."

"Uh," Dean says. "Guilty as charged."

Anna squeals. "Then you're Emma!" She swoops down to kneel in front of Emma, who pushes her head against Dean's leg, hiding her face.

"Anna," Cas says again, stern.

"Sorry." Dean touches Emma's hair. "We're kind of shy."

Emma pulls away from his leg just long enough to glare up at him. _I'm not shy,_ the look says.

Dean nudges her. "Then show it."

Emma stuffs her face against his leg all over again.

"Oh my God, she is _too_ cute." Anna looks enraptured. "Better watch out, Dean, or I might steal her."

Emma makes an angry sound and flails a threatening leg outward as Cas says again, exasperated, " _Anna_."

"Might steal you, too," Anna tells Dean with a wink, which makes Dean grin only a little uncomfortably and look over at Cas.

"My sister-in-law, Anna," Cas says. "I am sorry I have so little control over her."

Anna rolls her eyes. "I'm not a _dog_ , Castie."

Cas's face goes more displeased at the nickname. But a little giggle makes itself heard against Dean's leg, and Cas's long-suffering expression softens a little.

"Come, let's introduce you to the saner members of the party," he says, and ushers them toward the people sitting around the table. Amelia, his sister-in-law, is first; she smiles at them and just says, "Hello, Emma. Hello, Dean," in a voice so polite and soft that Dean can't tell if she's just legitimately that nice or if she actually hates his guts, but Cas has told him before that Amelia's not much of a talker, so he tries not to freak out about it. Then there's the Novaks' neighbors from either side, whose names Dean doesn't quite manage to remember because he's doing the whole trying-not-to-freak-out thing, and then them pointing at their kids who are playing in the pool with Claire, and then there's Anna's girlfriend Lily, which, okay, Dean can actually breathe a little now because apparently sexuality is not actually that big a deal at the Novaks despite the big cross hanging in the front hall and the one on Amelia's necklace, and then comes Cas's brother.

"Saved the best for last, huh?" Jimmy Novak says when Cas finally leads Dean over to him. He's got an apron on, just a plain black one, over a yellow SpongeBob t-shirt and swimming trunks as he holds the grill spatula, and it's almost unnerving how much he looks like an alternate universe version of Cas, wide grins where Cas is small smiles and wide gestures where Cas is still, straight arms and mobile eyebrows. "I'm Jimmy, Dean." He sticks out his free hand with a laugh. "I've been waiting all day to say that."

Dean grins a little. All the more so when he sees the eye-roll Cas gives his twin brother. "Nice to meet you. Thanks for having us over."

"The pleasure's all ours. It's nice to finally meet you." He's still smiling, but Dean can't miss the mild reproof in his voice on _finally_ , so similar to the kind of tone Cas gets when he's chastising one of his students for something.

"Yeah." Dean ducks his head a moment. "Sorry it took so long."

"You're here now," Cas says firmly. "Jimmy, this is Emma."

Emma has finally taken her face out of Dean's pant leg. She's looking back and forth between Cas and Jimmy. "You're twins."

Her voice is accusing. Dean nudges her. "Maybe if you ever let Cas talk to you, he would've told you he had a twin brother."

"Perhaps," Cas says solemnly. "Or perhaps I would have told you I have a twin sister. Her name is Jamie."

Jimmy whacks him with the spatula.

"Would either of you like something to drink?" Dean looks up to see Amelia has made her way over to the grill. "There's juice, Capri Sun, beer--"

"Uh, I'll have a beer. Thank you." Dean looks down at Emma.

"What kind of Capri Sun?" she asks Amelia.

Amelia holds out her hand. "Would you like to come see?"

Emma considers her for a minute. Then she lets go of Dean and trots after Amelia, though she doesn't take her hand. Dean watches them head around the table of adults toward the table of drinks in the corner, pausing on the way for Amelia to introduce Emma to two kids who surface in the pool wearing neon orange goggles.

Cas's hand on his arm draws his attention back. He glances up.

"Did you want to go swimming?" Cas says. "I have another pair of swim trunks here if you didn't bring yours."

Dean glances down at Cas's swim trunks. He'd noticed before that they were emblazoned with the Superman logo on the front, which, really, Cas? C'mon. But now he notices that they also have this hilariously dumb cape attachment flaring from the waistband in the back. He lifts his gaze back to Cas's eyes and gives him a cocked eyebrow.

Cas flushes slightly. "Claire picked them."

"Sure," Dean says, and for the first time, feels relaxed enough to reach over and nudge Cas in the ribs.

"Try and tell me that if you had seen a Batman version you wouldn't have bought them," Cas retorts, hip-checking him.

"I wouldn't," Dean says. "I have too much dignity."

"I've seen you eating pie, Dean Winchester. You have no dignity."

"Nothing wrong with appreciating a good pie," Dean declares, and smiles at Amelia when she leans around Cas to hand them each beers. "Thanks."

They settle down on the edge of the pool, Dean rolling up the pant legs of his jeans halfway up his calves to dangle his feet in the water next to Cas's. His ankles are doing okay, right now, but his knees are still pretty scaly and red. So are his elbows, safely hidden beneath the pushed-up sleeves of his white collared shirt.

Cas is watching him. "Are you sure you don't want to change?"

"I'm sure," Dean says cheerily. He takes a long gulp of beer, watching Emma race a blonde kid in some sort of butterfly-kick/backstroke relay on the other end of the pool. Her Capri Sun is abandoned with a pile of others on the corner of the deck near the pool pump. "So what've you been up to?"

"There was a workshop on reading comprehension for ESOL students last week." Cas inclines his head. "It wasn't terribly interesting. Mostly frustrating."

"I thought you guys had a para to help you with that?"

"Budget cuts," Cas says simply.

"That _sucks_ ," Dean says. "So they're gonna be in the regular English classes now?"

"Yes," Cas says. "And I will try my best to ensure they are able to understand the material, but without the extra attention of the para to facilitate translation, I fear that some students are going to end up left behind regardless."

"Couldn't you get some other kids to come in and help out?" Dean scratches his cheek as one of the kids' enthusiastic kicking sprays droplets of water into their faces. "I mean, they have free periods, right? Maybe some of 'em could get community service hours by coming in to help."

Cas is frowning thoughtfully. "Perhaps they could. That is a viable proposal."

Dean shrugs. Someone's turned on music somewhere, a throwback station that's playing music he can remember skating to, back in the days when he and Sammy went to roller rinks during the summer because it only cost four bucks to be in the air conditioning all day, and it washes over him, comfortable and easy. He leans back on his hands, feet flexing in the water, and leans into Cas. They haven't spent much time together, lately, not with Emma coming to stay with him full-time for the month while Lydia's in Europe. Getting to sit with Cas like this, shoulder to shoulder, feels more like coming home than he could have imagined.

Cas's hand shifts beside his, nudging his beer. "And you? What have you been up to?"

"Not much. Work, mostly." He huffs. "Tryin' to keep Emma from breaking her skull open at the garage."

"She's adventurous?"

"She's in love with Bobby's chair, is what she is." The days she comes in to the garage with him, which has been every day this week, he gets relegated to an uncomfortable old chair that probably belonged to a dining room set once, and Emma commandeers his spot behind the desk where Bobby's huge old leather roller chair sits like a beaten-up, oil-smeared throne. She does the same thing in it that Dean and Sam did when they were kids, which is lean it back on its old, creaking springs as far as it can go before she topples out of it. "Kid's gonna end up with a concussion."

Cas smiles down at the beer in his hand. With his hair falling across his eyes, they're the same blue as the swimming pool where there's still shade falling across the water from the big oak tree above the pool cage. "How far have you gotten in your marathons?"

"We're through the first two X-men," Dean replies. Before she left, Lydia finally gave permission for them to watch the Marvel movies together, most likely because she knew if she didn't Dean was going to end up giving in and secretly letting Emma watch them anyway. "I dunno if we should jump straight to the third one or do some of the origins ones first, what d'you think?"

"I think you should skip the third one entirely," Cas says sourly, and a laugh spills from Dean.

"What, you aren't impressed by the themes?"He nudges his shoulder.

"I'm not impressed by any of it," Cas says, and leans into Dean until Dean has to bend forward, laughing, his chest against his knees. Cas rests his weight on his forearm, across Dean's spine.

Dean tries to push up against it, grinning. "You're just mad they killed Cyclops."

"I am mad they killed Cyclops," Cas says, completely without shame.

"He was a pansy."

" _You_ 're a pansy," Cas retorts, and Dean laughs again, his back muscles quaking against Cas's arm.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah, I think there's too much fun going on over here." Anna plops down on Cas's other side, holding a soda with an umbrella sticking out of it. "Time to tone it down."

"Don't you have your own significant other to socialize with?" Cas says, and Dean's grinning into his knees at the grumpy note in his voice at the same time his stomach's giving a little flop at _significant other_. Which is absolutely ridiculous because he is twenty-nine years old, for God's sake.

"I do. And I will be going back to her in just a moment, but Amelia wanted someone to come tell you the burgers are almost ready. Also, Dean, your kid is _amazing_ at volleyball."

Dean looks up. Someone's set up a net to span the width of the pool, and several kids are treading water on either side of it. As he watches, Claire uses her fist to hit an inflatable beach ball over the net, and on the other side of the net, Emma explodes out of the water like some sort of human-torpedo-shark thing and slams it back. It sails over the net and bounces off Claire's head.

She shouts. The kids on Emma's side explode in laughter and cheer.

"Yeah," Dean says, unable to keep from feeling proud. Even though he's not got much to do with it; playing volleyball is Lydia and Emma's thing, their mother-daughter thing, which is probably why Emma works so hard at being good at it. "She rocks."

"Kids!" comes a shout from the grill. It's Jimmy, waving his spatula. "C'mon, it's time to eat! Claire, come help serve our guests!"

Cas climbs to his feet and offers Dean a hand to stand up. Dean takes it, sliding one bare wet foot, then the other, down the side of his calves to dry them off.

The Novaks have set up a buffet-type line-up with two card table along the edge of the screen by the grill. Plates and napkins and hamburger buns and hot dog buns and condiments and three different kinds of chips and Lydia's big fruit arrangement are all set out there for people to pile onto their plate as they see fit. Claire stands behind the table with her parents distributing hot dogs and hamburgers as requested onto people's plates.

Cas joins the back of the line, handing Dean a plate. Dean takes it with a "thanks" and looks around for Emma; looks down when he feels something dripping on his bare foot. Emma's already found her way to him; she's wrapped up in her princess towel, leaning into him. She's getting his shirt and pants wet, but he doesn't push her away, doesn't chivvy her back to join the line with the other kids, either, even though he probably should.

They shuffle forward in line. Emma wrinkles her nose at the hot dog buns when Dean nods at them with a questioning eyebrow; nods her head when he points at the hamburger buns instead. He puts one on a plate for her and hands it to her, turning to get his own hamburger bun when he sees that Cas has already gotten one for him. "Cas, you don't have to--"

"You take care of Emma's food, and I will focus on yours," Cas says. "Do you like relish?"

"I do, but--" Dean feels stupidly embarrassed, heat crawling up the back of his neck. He feels like some kind of kid Cas is taking care of. "I can get my own food, man."

Cas's expression doesn't change, much, but something about him curls in, withdraws, the way it had when Dean told him he shouldn't have paid for their Plucky's tickets. He hands the plate with the hamburger already on it to Dean. "I apologize."

"No, you don't have to--" Dean cuts off his _have to apologize._ He's made a big enough deal of it already. Too big a deal. God. Can't he do anything right? "Never mind."

"--don't like them," Emma is saying now. She's got her stubborn voice again, and Dean peripherally notices that she and Claire are glaring at each other from either side of the serving table. Claire's stationed behind the Edible Arrangement behemoth.

"How do you not like pineapples?" Claire demands. "They're the best fruit."

Emma sneers. "No, they're not."

"What do _you_ know?" Claire retorts. "You're stupid."

"Claire Novak!" comes Amelia's voice.

"You're just mad I'm better at volleyball," Emma says, and Dean's neck is hot. "Emma," he says, low, warning.

"She called me stupid!"

"You are!" Claire cries as Amelia pushes her way over to them.

"Enough!" Cas says. "Both of you."

Emma glares at him. "You're not my dad."

"You're not mine either!" Claire exclaims.

" _Claire Marie Novak_."

Claire freezes. Looks up at Amelia.

Her mother looks icy. "What do you have to say?"

Claire lowers her head. Mutters, "Sorry."

"Claire."

"I'm. _Sorry_ ," Claire says, loud enough to be heard this time.

Dean nudges Emma. She glowers up at him murderously but mutters, "I apologize, too." Her voice is about as sincere as Claire's. Dean looks at Amelia apologetically, but she's still looking severely at Claire. "Please get Emma the rest of her plate," she says. Then she looks at Dean and Emma, her own face softening apologetically. "Please go have a seat. Claire will bring your food."

"No," Dean begins, but Amelia gives him a Look. Cas touches the back of his arm, urging. Dean grips Emma's hand and leads her over to the table, where Cas sets down his and Dean's plates. Emma climbs angrily into the chair next to Dean's and sits there with her arms crossed and chin digging into her chest. She looks up long enough to glare at Claire when Claire stomps over to them holding the plate with Emma's burger, stacked high with potato chips on the side. Claire smile sick-sweetly back.

"Claire," Cas says, but she ignores him and flounces away, back down to the end of the table where her parents are.

"I'm sorry," Cas mutters under his breath.

"No, I am," Dean mutters back. He pokes at his own chips, then side-glances over at Emma. She's picking at her bun, shredding the edge into pieces and scattering them on top of the chips. He clears his throat pointedly.

She looks up at him. Her eyes are still narrowed into little slits, and for a minute, they have a stare-off. Then, very deliberately, she picks up the burger and takes a big, noisy bite. She chews it savagely, glaring at him all the while. Swallows. He gives her a _thank you_ look, and waits with raised brow for her to take another bite.

She does, still glaring. Then her face suddenly changes.

He grabs for her back as she grabs for her plate. Spits onto it. Chewed-up mouthfuls of brown burger and pale bun and yellow--

"Shit. Shit shit shit--"

"Dean? Dean, what is it?"

He already has Emma in his arms. Is shoving back in his chair and sprinting around the edge of the pool, into the house. Through the French doors, through the bright airy rooms, where did he leave their bag? Shit fucking dammit where did he leave the fucking bag--

Cas's footsteps follow him through the house, pounding on the wooden floors. "Dean!"

"I need her Epi-Pen." He drops down to his knees in the foyer next to their discarded bag of towels and sunscreen, keeping Emma held close with one arm and scrabbling in the bag with the other. "She's allergic to pineapples," fuck, fuck, fuck, where did he put it--

His fingers close around the shape at the bottom of one of the side pockets. They tremble as he pulls it out. Tremble harder as he uncaps it and grabs Emma's bony knee with one hand, "here we go, baby, here we go, it's okay," and jabs it into her thigh with the other.

Emma's hands tighten in his shirt. But she doesn't make a sound. He looks up at her in panic, terrified that her throat's already closing up the way Lydia said the doctor told her it could the next time Emma ate pineapple, "Say something, Emma."

She swallows. She croaks, " _Daddy_."

He grabs her up again. Rushes out the door with her in one arm and his keys in the other hand, and Cas is saying, "Dean, should I call 9--"

But Dean's already throwing them both into the Impala. Strapping Emma in with shaking hands and taking off, zooming down the street.

 

The triage nurse in the emergency room lobby sends them straight into a room. Dean's barely been in the exam room a minute, rocking Emma restlessly on his hip, when a nurse comes in and starts asking him the usual list of Emma's allergies ("just the pineapple, that's all"), who her pediatrician is ("Dr. Garrison"), what medicines she's on ("just the topical hydrocortisone when her eczema's flaring up and the epi just now--look, is the doctor going to be in soon?!").

"Mr. Winchester?" A woman in a white coat's slipping into the room. "I'm Dr. Lee. I understand Emma had an allergic reaction?"

"Yeah." Relief pours through him. "Here, Em--"

She lets go of him with minimal fuss, letting him set her down on the bed, though she doesn't let go of his hands. Her face looks puffy, her lips swollen, and the doctor immediately grabs one of the lights from the wall and a tongue depressor from her pocket. Emma opens her mouth obediently, and the doctor stoops to peer inside.

"Great job, kiddo," she says, and straightens up, looking at Dean. "You already used her Epi-Pen?"

He nods.

"Good," she says. "Really good. We're going to do another shot of it here, and I'm going to put in orders for some more medications to bring the swelling down. Can we get some Benadryl, Pepcid, and Prelone, Pam?" she says to the nurse, who nods and slips outside. "What we worry about the most in cases like this is the airway closing up, and right now Emma's looks all right. Pam's going to get her the medication, and I'm going to be back in just a few minutes to check on it again, okay?"

Dean nods again. His heart rate is finally starting to return to a normal level.

The doctor has Emma lean forward so she can listen to her chest and back, and before she even finishes, the nurse is coming back in with a tray of medicine, water, and a shot. As she gives Emma the shot and Emma grips Dean's hand, Dr. Lee asks Dean when Emma was exposed to the pineapple, how much she ate, what her reactions have been like before.

"I'm not sure," he has to answer for the last one, because the first time Emma had a reaction to pineapple was with Lydia, and he doesn't know how bad it was then, just that Lydia scared the shit out of him when she called and told him the doctor said if Emma ever ate pineapple again her throat could close up, and she was getting Epi-Pens for both of them, and Dean had better keep his on him _always_.

"Less," Emma interrupts. Her voice is tiny, but more in that scared little kid way than anything else. "Last time was worse. I couldn't breathe."

"Good," says the doctor. "I think you and your dad did a real good job, using your Epi-Pen so fast." She taps Emma on the nose, laughing when Emma wrinkles it, and heads for the door. "I'll be back."

The nurse leaves with her. The door shuts behind them, and Dean and Emma are left in the room alone.

Emma sighs. Dean's pocket buzzes. Cas calling, no doubt.

He doesn't miss Emma's glance at his pocket, then away. He reaches into his pocket and silences it. No matter how much he wants to slip it out and text Cas back, because he's almost certainly worrying, he feels strangely guilty. Like he needs to punish himself, and maybe Cas, too.

He sits in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to the bed. Emma finds the TV remote hanging from the wall and turns it on, flipping until she reaches Disney Channel.

They sit there, Dean's foot bouncing up and down as he watches the nurses and doctors passing by through the glass wall, the speaker in the remote blaring laugh tracks into his ear.

His phone buzzes again. He silences it again. On the bed, Emma starts to shiver. Dean starts; he'd forgotten she's still in her wet swimsuit. He hesitates, then pulls off his collared over shirt. "C'mere, kiddo."

She crawls off the bed, into his lap. Lets him wrap her up like a taco and shivers under his chin until she warms up.

"Do you guys want a blanket?" The doctor comes back inside. "I can tell Pam to bring you one."

"That'd be great, thanks." He stays very still as the doctor leans over them both, peering in Emma's mouth again. "How's it look?"

"Nice and open still." She straightens, placing the otoscope back on the wall. "How's it sound if we just watch you for another half hour or so, make sure the medicine kick in? Hopefully some of this swelling'll go down." She nods at Emma's cheeks.

Dean looks down at Emma. She makes a face at him. Now that he knows she's not going to suffocate, he can appreciate that she actually looks kind of cute right now, like a chipmunk with its cheeks full or acorns or something. "Sounds good, I guess."

"Great," the doctor says. "I'll start working on your discharge papers, send Pam in with a blanket for you."

She leaves the room again. Emma slides out of Dean's lap and pads over to the bed to grab the remote, pads back over to him to climb back up again. His whole front is damp now, and when Pam comes in to drop off a grape popsicle and the promised blanket, Emma tucks it around both of them, pushing the ends behind Dean's shoulders so it's drawn up to their chins.

 _Dog With a Blog_ gives way to _Fish Hooks_. It's an episode they've both seen before, twice. Emma switches the channel, but the SpongeBob episode that's on is one they've both seen, and so is the Adventure Time episode.

"Sorry," Dean says as they finally settle on a news broadcast of the Independence Day celebration taking place downtown. They're getting ready to set off the fireworks. They'll probably be halfway done by the time he and Emma get out of the emergency room. "Worst Fourth of July ever, huh?"

"We didn't get to eat any pie," Emma mumbles into his shoulder.

"I'll make it up to you," Dean says. "We'll do nothing but make pie all weekend. All your favorite kinds."

Emma considers this. "And I get to sit in Bobby's chair every day."

"Every day."

"And you have to take me to see _How To Train Your Dragon_ again."

"As many times as you want."

"With popcorn."

"With popcorn," Dean vows, and nuzzles her nose with his own. She giggles. "Daaaaad."

There's a knock at the door. Pam sticks her head in. "You have visitors, can they come in?"

He looks down at Emma. She looks just as puzzled as him, but she nods, sitting up.

The people Pam leads inside aren't Lydia and her husband, as Dean had half, ridiculously, thought. It's Cas, in his ridiculous caped swimming trunks, and Claire.

Emma gasps when she sees the latter peering bashfully around Cas's legs. She turns her face into Dean's neck, doubtless trying to hide how puffy her face is.

Cas clears his throat. Claire whispers timidly, "Hi, Mr. Winchester."

Dean looks at Cas. Cas looks back, but his expression doesn't betray much, just a patient, reassuring look.

Claire whispers, "Is Emma okay?"

Dean looks down at the drying wisps of blonde curls under his chin. "Why don't you ask her?"

Emma sucks in a breath. Claire says, barely any louder than a whisper, "Are you okay, Emma?"

Emma says, " _Fine_ ," defiantly into Dean's neck.

Claire looks extremely uncertain. "I gotta tell you something."

Emma makes an angry sound into Dean's shirt. Dean looks at Cas, who says, "Would it be all right for us to leave them alone for a moment?"

Dean looks back and forth between them. But Emma's cleared from the doctor's standpoint, so… "Okay."

Emma makes a betrayed sound into his shirt. He peels her off him, anyway, setting her down on the floor and standing up. She yanks the blanket over her head.

Cas opens the door, holding it for Dean. Dean heads toward him as Claire, who he notices for the first time is holding their pie tin, takes a few cautious steps further into the room. "I'll be back, kiddo."

She makes another angry noise from under the blanket. Climbs onto the bed.

Dean follows Cas out into the hallway. A few feet down it, to a pair of vending machines tucked into an alcove. He wraps his arms around himself, abruptly remembering that he's down to his Hanes undershirt, the fabric damp and his elbows bare and scaly. "What's up?"

"I spoke to Claire after you left." Cas looks very grave. "She confessed to me that she put pineapple in Emma's hamburger after their argument."

Anger flashes through Dean. Then resignation. Emma never told Claire that she couldn't have pineapples, just that she didn't like them. "She didn't know Emma was allergic to them."

"Nevertheless," Cas says. "She put them in Emma's food because she knew Emma didn't like them, and that kind of behavior is unacceptable."

Dean huffs a tired laugh. "She's a kid, Cas. You do that kind of stupid stuff when you're a kid."

Cas sighs. He turns, leaning against the vending machine behind him, and Dean, after a moment, turns to follow suit, pressing the heels of his palms against the plastic, feeling it bend and give. "I am sorry your holiday turned out like this."

"Not your fault, man. This kind of stuff…tends to happen with holidays when I'm around." He gives another huff of not-quite laughter, this one self-deprecating. "Remember Valentine's Day?"

Cas cocks his head. "What tends to happen?" he says dryly. "Six-year-olds act like six-year-olds?"

Dean actually snorts at that. "No, I mean--" He gestures uselessly. "I just--you know. Fuck things up."

Cas studies him. His eyes are very blue. "What did you fuck up, Dean?"

He shrugs uncomfortably. "Running off like some spaz when I saw the pineapple in Emma's food--"

"As any parent would have done, had it been their child."

"--acting like some weird mother hen dad in front of your family--"

"They're overwhelming."

"--being such a chickenshit and taking so long to agree to meet them in the first place--"

"You eventually agreed," Cas says. "Don't you think that's all that matters, in the end?"

A sound of frustration escapes Dean. "When are you gonna quit making excuses for me, Cas?" He shoves away from the vending machine to look Cas in the eye. "I'm not exactly giving as much as I'm getting, here."

Cas meets his gaze squarely. Steps forward into it, even, his nose nearly touching Dean's. "I am not a child, Dean."

"Yeah. I kind of got that."

"I don't think you do," Cas says. "For some reason, you seem to hold yourself responsible for the choices I make. As if my judgment is somehow less than yours."

"Cas--"

Cas's hand touches the side of his face. "I am not six years old," he says softly. "My choices are mine to make. You don't have to worry about them on top of your own."

Dean's eyes fall shut. Like he's savoring something, or holding himself back from it.

Then he turns his head. Just far enough to bring his lips to Cas's fingers, and brush a kiss across their pads.

He stays there for a second, eyes closed. Mouth against Cas's rough skin. Then he pushes back and opens his eyes. "We better go make sure the girls haven't killed each other."

Cas smiles. Small, relaxed. Relieved. "There were no sharp implements in the room."

Dean lets out a laugh. "Emma doesn't need sharp implements."

"She will to eat the pie." Cas catches a passing nurse's aide. "Excuse me. Could you direct us to the cafeteria?"

 

Back in the exam room, Emma and Claire are both sitting on the bed, the blanket flung across their laps. Claire has Emma's popsicle, and Emma has eaten all the edges of crust off the pie sitting between them.

Dean groans when he sees the mutilation. "Seriously?!"

Emma looks defiant, crumbs around her mouth. "I had to take medicine!"

"Yeah!" says Claire, equally indignant, and Dean's not sure what happened while he and Cas were hunting down forks in the cafeteria, but Emma's giving Claire a sage nod of approval, and Claire's giving her one back.

He glances back at Cas. Who just smiles, in that mysterious way he has sometimes, and perches on the side of the bed so that his cape hangs over the edge.

Dean sits on the other side, near Emma's feet. "Give some of that here."

Emma obligingly slides the poor, scalped pie to him. He grabs a tongue depressor from the wall and unwraps it, scoops some apple filling out of the tin with it. He offers it to Cas, who leans forward to scrape it from the wood with his teeth. Dean does the same, and the girls laugh and squeal, thoroughly grossed-out by the idea of eating pie with something used to look at gross sick throats, then demanding their own chance to do the same.

When the doctor comes back in a few minutes later, she raises her eyebrow at the new guests and all the laughter but doesn't scold them. "Well, hello. Are you Emma's friend?"

Claire and Emma look at each other. Emma's still got a tongue depressor sticking out of the side of her much-less-swollen mouth.

"You'd have to ask her," Claire says finally, very somberly. Emma looks shocked around her tongue depressor.

Dr. Lee smiles. "Well," she says, turning to Dean. "I think you two are good to do. Just keep her on Benadryl and pick up this prescription for some more Prelone for the next few days. I wrote instructions for you to follow up with her pediatrician in a few days and get an Epi-Pen refill. Sound good?"

She looks at them both. Dean nods, and Emma says, "Yup!"

 

It's dark when they get outside, the air filled with loud popping noises from people setting off firecrackers nearby. Emma holds onto Dean's hand, her own sticky from the apple pie. It's the first time in a while she's held his hand like she used to when they were in a parking lot, and if he holds it a little more tightly than usual, she doesn't say anything.

"Well." Dean stops next to the Impala, which is parked a few spaces away from Cas's car. "Here's to hoping for less excitement next Fourth of July."

Claire looks embarrassed all over again. She ducks her head.

Emma tugs on Dean's hand, stepping toward Claire. He follows obediently, raising a brow at Cas above both the girls' heads.

"Claire." Emma's got her Imperious Voice on. "I decided we can be friends."

Claire lifts her head. "Really?"

"I guess so," Emma says airily, and Dean has to bite his lip to keep from laughing at her staged nonchalance.

"Oh," Claire says. "Well." She shrugs, tossing her hair. "I guess we can. If you want."

Cas is rolling his eyes. "All right. Come along, Claire, let's let Emma and Dean go home in peace. They've had a long day." He turns to go.

"Hey--Cas."

Cas pauses. Turns. Still holding Claire's hand.

"Do you…I mean…" Dean chickens out. "If Claire wanted to come for a sleepover some time. I'm pretty sure that'd be fine."

Emma sniffs her approval of such an idea. Claire goes, "Really?!" before catching herself and going, "I mean. Maybe that'd be cool."

Cas tilts his head. He, unlike the girls, seems to have heard the question that was under Dean's words. His mouth is curving.

"Yes," he says. "I think a sleepover would be nice."

 

When Cas comes over to Dean's apartment a few weeks later, it's six-year-old-free. Claire is sleeping over, not at Dean's but at Lydia's. Emma's over the moon about it (surreptitiously), Lydia is amusedly supportive of it, and Dean is…

Well. Dean is really freaking nervous, is what he is. All through dinner, which he spends all afternoon preparing, and all through the movie, which he picks hoping it's not something Cas will think he's stupid for liking, and through most, though not all, of the making out that came on the couch afterward, hands slipping under shirts slipping past waistbands slipping down other waistbands.

Until they get into the bedroom, after dinner, and Cas strips down to his boxers.

Dean bursts into laughter, falling back on the bed.

Cas looks amused in the dim light filtering through the blind from the streetlamps outside. "What?"

"You know what," Dean says. "God, and I thought the swim trunks were bad."

Cas crawls onto the bed over him. "You like them."

Dean turns his head to the side, smooth comforter sliding against his cheek. Cas's stubbled cheek travels down the bolt of his jaw to the soft underside of it, the same places Dean's flush travels on its way from his collarbone to his throat. "No I don't."

Cas hums against his neck, unconvinced. Dean's hand comes up to his bare shoulder and then down, down his sides, to the waistband of his boxers. Further down to toy with the fabric of the absolutely stupid black, yellow-emblazoned cape attached to the back of them.

He feels Cas's grin against his collarbone. Tugs on the fabric, once.

Cas's hand comes up to slide Dean's shirt off. Dean stiffens, almost too slightly to be noticeable, but Cas moves his hand away, brings it back to Dean's face instead. Cups the side of his face, and Dean opens his mouth wider. Sucks harder. His hands slide up, to the small of Cas's back, drawing him closer.

Then he stops. Mouth slowing distractedly as he feels something different beneath his fingers. A change in the skin under the pads of his thumbs. He sweeps them back and forth, seeking.

Cas pulls away. Their mouths make a wet sound. Dean licks the saliva from his lip automatically. "What?"

Cas sits back on his haunches. In the light from the windows, he looks the most uncertain Dean's ever seen him, at least outside of Plucky's. "I was perhaps…overzealous in my youth."

Dean looks at him, confused.

"And overly…intoxicated."

Dean sits up. Scoots out from under Cas, pulling the hem of his shirt back down. "Okay, I'm lost."

Cas gently pushes him back down. Onto his side, and Dean lets himself be pushed, head sinking into the pillow, and watches Cas with a creased forehead.

Cas sits on the edge of the bed, his back to Dean. Then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his trunks and pulls them down just far enough to reveal the Superman symbol tattooed right in the center of his hips.

Dean catches himself before he starts to laugh. It's dark in the dim room, but not so dark that he can't see the flush traveling down the back of Cas's neck. He reaches for him, and pulls him in by the waist. Tugs him into the cradle of Dean's body.

"Now you know," Cas mumbles into the pillow. He sounds petulant. But he turns over, twisting to face Dean and slide his hand up his arm, to the scaly plaque of psoriasis under the thin fabric of his sleeve. "Dean. We all have things about ourselves of which we are ashamed."

Dean catches his breath. Then he catches Cas's hand, where it lies still and gentle against his elbow. He sits up to struggle out of his shirt, and when Cas's hand starts to slide higher, he catches it. Holds it against the pounding between his ribs.

"Not yet," he whispers. "But someday. Okay?"

Cas looks solemn in the dimness. "Do you promise?"

Dean, after a moment, holds out his pinky. "I promise."

Cas is still for his own moment. Then he links his smallest finger with Dean's.

Then he rolls up onto his elbow and bears Dean down into the pillows with a kiss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
